


The Infection

by scrapbullet



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Eldritch!Coward, Horror, Implied/Referenced Incest, Lovecraftian, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Blackwood, for all of his darkly intelligent machinations, does not see what is in front of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Infection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClementineStarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/gifts).



Time is fluid. It swells like a wave before cresting on the shores of human consciousness only to retreat, luring the smooth pebbles into its murky embrace. The cycle does not cease; it begins anew, though the stone it touches does not remain unchanged. 

All that heeds its touch becomes Other. That is simply the way of things.

“I remember your mother,” Daniel says one evening, his fingers lightly caressing the smooth marble fireplace. The heat of the flames warms him in ways he cannot explain; he is always cold, always, even when wrapped in the arms of his dearest beloved. “She was a beauty, and her smile... it was as ice.”

Henry absently licks a spilled drop of cognac from the pad of his thumb, lips twisting in irritation. “You are, as always, utterly inscrutable, Daniel. My mother passed shortly after you were born.”

Daniel blinks, and if it was not for the dance of shadows over his face one would see the fathomless pit that is his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course; I apologise. Perhaps it was a portrait I spied...”

Henry Blackwood, for all of his darkly intelligent machinations, does not see what is in front of him. Daniel Coward, as Henry knows him, is merely the meat of a being whose form is beyond measure; whose body is the child of his own incorporeal self with that of the human mother. So too, did he truly father the shrewd man seated before him, and Daniel secretly muses on possibilities. Is Henry capable of withstanding the revelation of such knowledge? That Daniel is father and brother both?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

“I heard she was without exception,” Daniel offers. His palm hovers over the fire, and although the mortal shell feels pain it is nothing compared to the inescapable maw from whence he came. “I heard,” and now he smiles, amusement colouring every word and nuance as he deftly slides to his knees before Henry; takes away his glass, “that she consorted with a demon.”

Henry, apathetic due to Daniel’s unwholesome magic, simply laughs; low and like the wash of water over gravel. “Mere stories.”

“Stories?” Daniel asks, voice light. His palms rest on Henry’s knees, absorbing the decadent sensation of thick, rich wool against his skin over strong thighs corded with sumptuous muscle. How many times has Daniel bruised that lovely skin? How many times has he sucked and bitten and gnawed, the quickening thrum of blood against his lips?

“Mm, yes.” Henry veritably purrs, and draws Daniel in for a biting kiss.

Flush with desire Henry is the epitome of fleshly perfection. Palming at Henry’s rigid cock, trapped within the confines of his trousers, Daniel laps at the coppery tang that taints the plush lower lip, and when he smiles once more its width is incomprehensible. It unhinges his jaw in such a way that the great, slithering black mass of his tongue unfolds itself to flick against the juddering heart-beat at Henry’s neck.

The horror on his lovers face is... indescribable. 

“Not so,” he murmurs, tasting fear; bright and acrid and delicious. “Your mother was a comely thing, for your kind.” Daniel sighs, rolling his neck and revelling in the release of bone pushing against taut flesh. “Her breasts were a marvel, yes, but _Gods, Henry, her cunt..._ Such an exquisite, wet clutch...”

Pheromones, like sweet, musky smoke exudes from fresh wounds in Daniel’s skin. The soporific effect is near-instantaneous, and Henry’s body is a pliant toy in which to play with - though the terror, and, intriguingly, _interest_ , in his eyes remains. The length of Daniel’s tongue curls around Henry’s rigid cock, rubbing back and forth over the head. Black saliva, slippery like oil, slicks the way.

“I fucked her raw,” and although his mouth is occupied the words are nonetheless audible; blood spilling in rivulets from Henry’s ears. It is too much for a mortal man to bear, Daniel knows, and yet... This must happen. It must. Indeed, _it already has_. “She screamed and bled but still she asked me for more. I laid my seed in her belly and slipped in to rest beside you, my darling Henry, _my brother, my son_ , and watched you _grow._ ”

Time is not linear. It does not run in a straight line - in fact, it does not run at all.

He has tasted the clear, bitter fluid of Henry’s pre-cum before, as he does now; as he will again, and again, over and over like waves of the ocean upon the shore.


End file.
